


Five Things That Never Happened to Luke Triton (Or Maybe They Did)

by bethfrish



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hotel Dusk, Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: M/M, Multi, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-24
Updated: 2009-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/933954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethfrish/pseuds/bethfrish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how not to grow up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Never Happened to Luke Triton (Or Maybe They Did)

**Northumberland, England. 1922.**

When Luke awakes, he's curled up in the back of Professor Layton's automobile, blue, moonlit darkness pouring in through the windows. The seat is far too narrow to lay across, even for a boy of twelve. His knees ache. 

Slowly he becomes aware of the fingers threaded through his hair, softly brushing the strands away from his face. It's a gentle motion, tender in its carelessness. Luke stirs, lifting his cheek from his teacher's leg. "Professor?" 

Layton pulls away too quickly. "I—I apologize, Luke," he says, and his words sound brittle. "I know it's cold. I'd never have brought you along if I'd known the inn was closed." 

Luke sits up, pulling the spare blanket tighter around his shoulders. "I don't mind," he says, and gazes out at the night. "What time is it?" 

Layton takes his watch from his coat pocket and cradles it in his hands. "Nearly six o'clock. Please, Luke, go back to sleep." He sighs hopelessly. "Oh, what am I saying? This is hardly suitable for either one of us. I should have found an inn in another town." 

"There is no other town," Luke points out with a small laugh. "Professor." He reaches out from beneath the tattered edge of Layton's woven blanket and touches his hand. "It...it felt nice when you were stroking my hair like that," he says softly, pressing his fingertips into the palm of Layton's hand. "You can keep doing that, if you like." 

Layton tenses, closing his eyes as the boy burns circles into his skin. "You should go back to sleep," Layton tells him, but Luke only leans closer, sighing when Layton finally brings his fingers to his cheek. 

"Luke..." Layton warns, even as he brushes the boy's overgrown bangs away from his eyes. Luke's hair is like liquid. Careless, boyish locks that slip too easily through the fan of his fingers, and when Luke turns in the cradle of his hand and smiles, Layton can plainly see what it is he really wants. 

It's an artless kiss, hesitant in the way of all boys who have never done it before. Layton holds his breath in his chest as Luke presses up against him, soft honey locks still threaded through his fingers. Luke brings his hand around between them, sliding it shyly over Layton's knee. "Can I...?" Luke whispers against his mouth, but Layton only flinches and pins him by the wrist. 

"Luke..." he manages, releasing him as he turns away. 

Luke touches the sleeve of his coat, tugs on it helplessly. "What's wrong?" he asks, and his own voice sounds small and frightened in his ears. 

Layton looks down at the ground, then shakes his head. "I'm driving to another town. You can't be expected to sleep like this." He shakes free of Luke's grasp. "I...I apologize," he whispers, and opens the door to the car. 

Luke remains silent the entire way there, just stares out the window as they bump and jostle down the uneven gravel road, watching the stones pale in the light as the sun begins to rise. 

  
  
  
  


**Bayport, New York. 1927.**

"You're quite good at math, aren't you?" Joe asks him as they cross the second-floor landing to his room. "You always get the best grades in the class. I'm starting to think they must teach it better overseas." 

Luke sets his school bag on the bed and sits down on the floor, cross-legged. "Well," he laughs. "You could say my education growing up was a bit...different." He surveys the room. Various models—cars, ships, planes—line the shelves, with one wall taken up almost entirely by a large poster of the New York railway system. "Thank you again for inviting me over," Luke says gratefully. "It's always difficult making friends so late in the school year." 

Joe plops down next to him on the floor and smiles. "Oh, but I like you! It must be downright awful, having to start over in a new city all the time. Frank and I've lived in Bayport our whole lives," he boasts. "It may not seem like a particularly interesting town, but you'd be surprised." 

"What do you mean?" Luke asks. 

"Well," Joe begins, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Our father is a private detective, and he often lets me and Frank work on cases that he doesn't have time for. We've had some doozies, I'll tell you that much." 

"Oh, that's right," Luke nods. "You told me your father was a detective. It must be exciting." 

Joe beams. "Oh, it is! Why, just the other day Frank and I deciphered these old carvings that Iola found—" 

"Who's Iola?" 

"Oh, well." A slow blush begins to creep across Joe's cheeks. "She's our friend, Chet Morton's little sister. She's...er, also my girl, in a way." 

The corner of Luke's mouth quirks up into a tiny smile. "She's your girlfriend, you mean?" 

"Sort of." 

Luke pokes him in the ribs, suddenly interested. "What do you mean 'sort of'? Haven't you...you know, _done anything_?" 

Joe looks perplexed. "What do you mean?" 

"Joe." Luke sighs. "I guess that's my answer." 

"Sorry." Joe gives an embarrassed laughed. "We've only ever kissed on the cheek. I—I wouldn't know about any of that other stuff." 

Luke smirks. "You mean like having your cock sucked?" 

Joe's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "N—no," he stammers, turning red. "I've never—have you?" 

Luke shrugs. "Sure. But can I tell you something?" he asks, leaning closer, and Joe nods. "It's better when a guy does it." 

Joe stares intently at his train poster for an entire minute before saying anything. Then, "Is that really true?" 

"Girls don't do it the right way," Luke explains with another shrug, and takes Joe's hand. Then he slowly draws his fingers to his lips. "It feels really good... Can I show you?" 

Joe opens his mouth, but no words come out. He nods. 

Luke pushes him down right there on the floor and tugs his pants down past his hips. 

He gets him to come in under thirty seconds. 

Joe gazes up at the ceiling, struggling to catch his breath. "That was... You're good at that." 

"Thanks," Luke replies. He grins, cat-like, as Joe fumbles to refasten his pants. "You can try it on me next time, if you want." 

Joe hardly has time to wrap his head around the suggestion when the bedroom door creaks open. 

"I knocked but nobody—Oh, hello." Frank stalls in the doorway. 

"Oh, hey Frank," Joe says quickly. "This is—" 

"Luke, isn't it?" 

Luke wipes at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "That's right. We met at Callie's house, I believe." 

"Oh! You know Callie?" Joe asks excitedly. "She Frank's girlfriend!" 

"I remember," Luke says mildly. "Callie's a sweet girl. She was one of the first friends I made when I moved here." Then he gives Frank a look that can only be classified as indecent. "The three of us should get together again some time. Did you enjoy yourself?" 

Frank clears his throat awkwardly. "I did." 

"Or the three of _us_." Luke twirls his finger lazily in the air to indicate Joe's inclusion. "Now that I'm friendly with the both of you." 

"Luke's a whiz at math," Joe blurts out, and Frank just regards them from the doorway, chewing on his lip. 

  
  
  
  


**Chicago, Illinois. 1933.**

The crowds never begin to dwindle until long after the sun sets, after the outdoor spotlights split the night and bury the stars. Couples linger in the shadows, holding hands and smoking their cigarettes. Fathers carry their exhausted children back to their cars, back to the railway station, clutching their balloons and their souvenirs in their tiny fists. 

Luke stands just outside the Hall of Science and hitches his bag up over his shoulder. Next to him a group of tourists are huddled in a circle, attempting to navigate a folded map soiled with rips and remnants of greasy finger food. 

"Excuse me, sir? Would you happen to have the time?" 

Luke turns around. A young couple is standing behind him, languidly arm in arm. "Certainly," he replies, consulting his watch. "It's twenty past nine." 

The man smiles politely. "Thank you, good sir. I say, it's nice to see a fellow countryman. Are you enjoying the fair?" 

"I am, thank you. In fact, I just gave a lecture this afternoon." 

"Oooh, on what?" the girl asks dreamily, her peculiarly large eyes going even wider. 

"Transcendental numbers. Cantor and the like." Their expressions betray not a hint of understanding. "Er, mathematics," Luke clarifies. 

The girl scrunches up her nose. "Oh, I don't care for mathematics at all. Makes my head feel funny." 

"Aha, don't mind her," the man interjects, adding quietly, "She's not terribly bright. I'm William, by the way. And this is—" 

"Drusilla," she finishes sweetly. 

"Aha...er, Drusilla," he repeats, glaring at her out of the corner of his eye. 

"Pleased to meet you," Luke says, offering his hand to the lady. "I'm Luke Triton." 

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Luke." William hesitates. "I know we just met, but would you fancy a drink? Being a fellow countryman and all." 

Luke fiddles idly with the strap of his shoulder bag. "Why not?" he agrees. 

They cross the fairgrounds together, past the splendor of Soldier Field and the Shedd Aquarium, into the true streets of the city that by comparison seem devoid of life. Luke doesn't react when Drusilla drifts beside him and takes his arm, crooning, "Lovely night," against his ear. It isn't until he senses the weight of William's hand against his back, steady and cold, that he reaches into his pocket and palms the sliver of wood. 

"The way you two go about it," Luke remarks calmly, "you must think I've never seen a vampire before." 

"Oh, Spike," Drusilla sighs mournfully, still against Luke's ear. "He's caught us, he has. You know they taste better when they don't put up a fight." 

Spike freezes, grabbing Luke by the wrist and holding him to the spot. "Makes no difference to me," he snarls, and those unmistakable features begin to overtake his face. 

Luke flicks the stake into his fist, sliding it up against Spike's chest before he has time to react. "Now, listen," Luke says darkly, applying only the slightest pressure. "I can kill you both right here—and believe me, I can—or you can listen to my proposition." 

Spike boggles at him. "What are you on about, mate? We're _vampires_. We don't do propositions. Kill him, Dru." 

Drusilla, for her part, pets longingly at Luke's shoulder. "Oh, but he is pretty. Such a pretty, pretty pet. Tell us your proposition, pretty one." 

"Dru!" 

Luke twists the stake into Spike's shirt, increasing the pressure as much as he dares. "Get me high," he breathes, and his words are like the quick burn of venom. "I've done it before, but they say it's even better with two points of contact. Two sets of teeth buried in your skin, bleeding you out as your heart races and your head spins. Do it for me and I'll make it worth your while." 

Spike laughs cruelly. "Are—are you serious, mate? I thought you were Mr. Smart Mathematics Guy. What makes you think we won't just keep drinking and kill you?" 

"Because," Luke murmurs, slipping the wood flat against Spike's chest and dragging it down until his fingers graze his waistband. "I can't make it worth your while if you kill me." 

Spike looks down at Luke's hand, running his tongue over his fangs. "...Dru?" 

"How often do we get to enjoy the World's Fair, love?" she asks, and slides her pale hand over Luke's. 

"Well then," Spike concedes, his features softening. "You have yourself a deal," and suddenly it's Luke who has the eyes of a monster. 

  
  
  
  


**???, Scotland. 1943.**

It's nearly seven o'clock when a knock sounds at his door. Presumptuously late for a student, but then, Luke has always been notoriously generous with his time. He sets his quill down, propping his elbows up on the desk. "Yes, come in." 

"Professor Triton?" A tall, dark-haired boy lingers in the doorway. 

"Ah, Mr. Riddle, do take a seat." Luke rises to meet him, motioning to one of the bright blue chairs in the corner. "What can I do for you?" 

Riddle thanks him and sits down, declining politely when Luke offers him a cup of tea. "I'm afraid I'm having a little trouble with your Arithmancy assignment," he explains with some concern. "The numbers just aren't coming out right. I thought, perhaps, you might explain it again?" 

Luke crosses his legs, taking a long sip of tea. "And which part is giving you the trouble?" 

"Well, you see, I've gotten to the section where you're required to pinpoint the subject's three fears, and I'm afraid my numbers just aren't making any sense." 

"You are using the Social Number, aren't you? Consonants only, remember." 

Riddle's eyes widen in dismay. "The Social Number," he repeats, shaking his head as if he's blanked on his own name. "How could I forget that?" 

Luke smiles passively over his cup. "It happens to the best of us." 

Retrieving a quill from somewhere in his robes, Riddle slides it across the table. "I wonder though, Professor Triton, if you wouldn't mind showing me a quick example. Just so I know I've got it." 

Luke eyes the quill, then gently places his cup on its saucer and returns to his desk. He regards the boy for a moment, still seated in that flamboyantly cerulean upholstery. "Mr. Riddle," he says calmly. "Do you really expect me to believe that the brightest student in all of Hogwarts is suddenly confounded by one of the most elementary aspects of Arithmancy. Tell me why you're really here." 

Something flickers across the boy's face—embarrassment perhaps, or maybe just irritation—and he stands up. "If you must know, Professor," he says uneasily. "I—I seem to I have a bit of a crush on you." 

Luke rolls up a stray sheet of parchment from his desk—third-year exam scores—and snorts. "Do you now?" 

"Don't laugh at me!" Riddle demands, suddenly so close that Luke can see his own reflection in those startlingly dark eyes. "You're quite young for a teacher," Riddle continues, voice like spider's silk. "What can I say? I find you rather attractive." 

Even at this range, Luke can feel the boy's breath against his cheek, but he steps even closer. "Well then, Mr. Riddle," he says, reaching up to cup his chin. "If I were to kiss you, I'd imagine you wouldn't protest." 

Riddle doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stands there as Luke trails a finger across his bottom lip. 

"You are also rather attractive, as I'm sure you're well aware," Luke whispers, tilting his head until their foreheads meet. "I suppose I wouldn't mind kissing you." 

And then he does. Riddle's lip are soft and moist, and when he pushes his tongue into Luke's mouth, he tastes like the sweet, acidic burn of citrus fruit. Luke bites at his lip and pulls away, and Riddle's eyes are filled with sudden loathing. 

Luke smiles bitterly. "You take your bluffs to the extreme, don't you, Mr. Riddle? I'm impressed. That must have been quite difficult for you," he says, and his laugh is like poison. "What was in that quill anyway?" 

"I... You filthy, disgusting Muggle!" Riddle hisses, aiming his wand at Luke's chest. 

"I see. I'm a Muggle now? Why just a moment ago—" 

Riddle seethes. "You—You repulse me! I know what you are! How you arrived at this job is completely beyond me, but you don't belong here. You and your kind don't belong _anywhere_." 

Luke flicks the wand away with disinterest. "What I am, or am not, is none of your concern. I'm here a personal favor to the Headmaster, and here I will remain. Now then," Luke says brightly, sitting back down at his desk. "I suggest you take your quill and your newfound Arithmancy knowledge and run along to complete your assignment. I'm told it's due tomorrow." 

Riddle buries his wand in his robes and swipes furiously at his mouth. "I'll see that you pay for this," he hisses, but Luke doesn't look up from his work until the boy is already gone. 

  
  
  
  


**Pasadena, California. 1952.**

"Six fucking wheels on this thing, shit." 

Luke puts a gloved finger to his mouth, resetting his earpiece against the steel. They've been here ten minutes, and already his knees are beginning to ache. 

Just a couple more clicks and he'll have it on his end, that delicate beat of metal on metal that means they're one step closer to finishing this job, one step closer to being able to breathe again. Luke scribbles something onto a sheet of paper, crouches down low on the floor and charts out the dots. "Got it," he mutters, pitching the earpiece. "Only three on this one. I'll have it in a second." He twirls the dial artfully between his fingers, right-left-right. Again, until the lock slides apart with a clank. "Got it." 

"How much?" 

"Smaller bills. Maybe ten grand." He pitches them into the bag. "If you'd stop talking, we'd get to the bulk of it." 

Hyde sits back on his heels. "Do you know who you're talking to, Triton? You're good all right, just like Joey said you'd be, but the only reason you're here is because I needed four hands to disarm the door and I only got two of 'em." He gives Luke a self-assured sort of grin. "I'd say you could just take your cut and go, but we only brought one car." 

Luke approaches the other safe, eyeing Hyde's chart from over his shoulder. "To be honest, I'm not particularly interested in my cut. You can keep it." 

Hyde jerks his head around, staring at him like anyone with half a brain would. "Whaddya mean you're not interested? Crazy son of a bitch. Why the hell are you even working this job?" 

Luke shrugs, studying the dial. "Just a hobby, I suppose." 

Hyde blinks at him in disbelief. "Hell, that's a new one." Then to Luke's surprise, he laughs. "You want at this one, don't you? Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. You know what, Triton? I like you. Go ahead and do the honors." He shakes his head, but Luke can tell without even looking that he's got a grin on his face. "Left off at 28." 

"You're not too bad yourself," Luke says evenly, giving him a small wink. "But your handwriting is atrocious." 

"You got a lot of nerve, Triton," Hyde says, but he's doesn't sound that angry. "First you come in here because you like puzzles or some bullshit, and then you got the balls to go and insult my work. I thought you English types were supposed to have manners." 

Luke just tells him to shut up, and slowly coaxes the dial to the left. 

"So why don't you want the money?" Hyde asks, ignoring the reprimand. "No family?" 

Luke shakes his head, biting his lip in concentration. "There it is," he mumbles and jots something down on Hyde's notes. Luke glances back at him, leaning there against the wall with his arms crossed. "Didn't think a guy like you would have a family." 

Hyde stands up a little straighter. "Got a son, actually. Just turned six." 

"Spitting image of his father?" 

"Oh yeah. Like twins." 

Luke grins, rubbing at his knees. "Better get something to keep those girls away."' 

"Heh, don't I know it." Hyde ruffles his hair a bit. "His name's Kyle. He's... He's a good kid, real smart." He stays quiet for a moment, watching Luke work the dial like it's all he was born to do. "Gonna do everything I can to make sure he never ends up a lousy thief like his old man," he mutters, and Luke plots another dot on his graph. "Jesus, I can't imagine what you were like as a kid," Hyde laughs. "Probably stayed up in your room all night doing math problems." 

Luke smiles wearily. "Only sometimes." 

It's another twenty minutes before Luke gets the final permutation right, but six digits is no easy feat, and Hyde knows from experience that better men have taken longer. 

"Boy." Hyde whistles, surveying the contents. "Nicer than I thought." 

Luke tosses him a bag. "It's all yours." 

When they finish loading up the loot, Luke goes over to the big safe and gives the dial a spin. "For good luck," he jokes, but when he turns around Hyde's blocking his way. 

"You sure you don't want any of this cash, Triton?" Hyde asks, studying him carefully. "'Cause it don't feel right, you walking out of here with nothing." 

"I told you, I have no use for the money," Luke says, but Hyde places a gloved hand against his chest. 

"Then maybe," Hyde begins, sliding his hand up over Luke's shoulder, kneading the muscle slowly with his fingers. "Maybe there's something else you want. Something I could give you instead." 

Luke doesn't answer. 

"Come on," Hyde says, reaching up to stroke his hair. "You gonna stand here and tell me you're not a queer?" 

"That would be pointless, no doubt." 

Hyde laughs, leaning forward to press his lips against Luke's neck. "There's a motel we could go to," he murmurs, snaking a hand between their legs. "We'll ditch the cash at the drop-off. It's not far." 

"Hyde." Luke catches his wrist, holding it against his thigh. "I've been thinking about what you'd be like in bed since we got here," he breathes across his cheek. "But you should go. Go home to your kid." 

Hyde's still stroking the short, soft hairs at the base of his neck. "Jesus, Triton, what's it matter to you?" 

Luke leans his head back against the cold steel, and he really doesn't know how to answer. 


End file.
